


Waiting

by VerdantVulpus



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Betrayal, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Cheating at Boardgames, Chocolate Hazelnut Torte, Community: Good Omens Fic Writers Workshop, Consensual Funishment, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Edging, Established Relationship, Guess The Author, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Shibari, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Trust, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29943624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantVulpus/pseuds/VerdantVulpus
Summary: So now Crowley waits. Aziraphale ordered him to wait. Aziraphale has mastered his shibari knots so Crowley doesn’t have ample choice in the matter, and isn’t going to risk the consequences of mircaling himself free.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29
Collections: Guess the Author: Round 3





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> For the Prompt "Betrayal"
> 
> My undying love to my bestie for the idea on how to cheat at Scrabble.

“‘Course ‘ _ergotten'_ ’s a word, Angel. It’s wot they used to say, innit? When they got it?”

“Got _what?_ ”

“Ergot! Nasty grain fungus. Good hallucinations though.”

One smooth bluff and a freshly summoned fake Scrabble dictionary later and Crowley won the game.

******

So now Crowley _waits_ . Aziraphale _ordered_ him to wait. Aziraphale mastered his shibari knots so Crowley doesn’t have ample choice in the matter. He’s not gonna risk the consequences of mircaling himself free.

So Crowley waits, trussed up naked and hard, knees forced apart by a bar, forearms bound behind his back. His brow is resting on the bedroom floor and his skinny thighs are tied to keep his arse up, ready, slick cooling in the breeze from the window.

Crowley waits while Aziraphale putters about in the kitchen downstairs and the shadows lengthen across the room. His Scrabble betrayal was discovered in the early afternoon, his punishment was swift. Crowley still shivered from the prodding fingers and tongue, teasing tweaks and touches, the rubbing of knots and palms, all rapidly building to an orgasm he’d come nose to nose with before being denied…

… and made to wait.

Evening descends and turns into night. A fox barks in the distance. The breeze stirs from the sea into the stillness of the room where Crowley groans into his gag. His knees ache, his neck is stiff. His cock is still hard, twitching and dripping a small lake on the hardwood. 

_Shoulda put a towel down._

The door opens at last, casting warm light and fresh shadows into the room. Aziraphale enters. Crowley can’t see him but the crisp click of those oxfords is engrained in the pleasure centre of his brain. Soft fingers trailed up his spine, inspiring a fresh bout of aroused perspiration. The bed beside him sinks as Aziraphale sits. The air is now perfumed with chocolate and hazelnut and he hears the scrape of a fork against a plate and then a heavenly filthy moan that brings Crowley roaring back up the brink all over again.

He holds his breath to keep from moaning in response and his eyes water with the effort to keep still. He wants to beg. He wanted to beg hours ago.

“This torte is positively scrummy,” Aziraphale tells him lightly. “I wonder if you would like a little taste, dear?”

Crowley waits. The angel doesn’t remove his gag so the question must be rhetorical. He stays still and quiet.

An oxford toes gently under his chin, the scent of leather polish assails his nostrils as Aziraphale slowly raises Crowley’s head with his foot until the demon’s finally looking at him with wet, desperate eyes.

He’s always so surprised by the sheer immensity of his need for Aziraphale’s touch. After eons of waiting, it's now become nigh unbearable to be denied. And yet, the surety that the waiting will end and he’ll be surrounded — filled! — with more loving pleasure than he’d ever imagined possible during that lonely epoch… it makes the waiting a sweet pain that he craves at times.

“What have we learned?” Aziraphale asks, removing the gag.

_Make sure your Scrabble dictionary isn’t published by Shadeiam-Snekster?_

Crowley swallows his snicker and schools his features into something he hopes looks contrite.

“Never cheat at Scrabble again,” he vows, his voice dreadfully serious, his eyes wide pools of golden sorrow.

“Lying to me about _words_ . _Words_ , Crowley!” Aziraphale chides, clucks his tongue. “I think you need more time to consider your actions.”

Crowley whines pitifully as Aziraphale quits the room, shutting the door. 

Crowley waits.

  
  



End file.
